As trees gave shade, and thus provided shadow from the sun streaming inside the house through a window, he avoided the windows near the large oak that grew on the north side of the building. Best to find entry through a chamber that was less likely to house a Dracule. And the higher the chamber, the less likely it would be occupied when the master lived belowground. He eyed a window on the third floor and noted the sturdy brick edging around its gabled roof.
Just then, a streak of blond shot around the corner of the house. It was a light-colored cat, and it appeared to be the one that had caused the ruckus out front. Once safely under a yew against the house, the feline stopped and looked up at him with unblinking gray-blue eyes.
“Merci,” Chas murmured to the creature as he slipped his package, coat and cap behind the bush and pulled a rope from inside his pocket. “You’ve given me an exceptional opportunity.” He swung the rope up onto one of the window gables and pulled tight when its hook caught around the lip of the peak.
The cat meowed, and to his amusement seemed to nod and then preen in acknowledgment, then ducked under the bushes and out of sight. The rope safely in place, Chas tested it and then began to climb.
He was quick and efficient, his movements smooth and sleek, and moments later, he pulled himself onto the ledge of the window to peer in carefully. Empty of everything but a rug and a single chair. He smiled, but there was also a nudge of disappointment that no one was waiting to try and stop him. It had been sometime since he’d been in a good fight.
Gathering up the rope, he looped it out of sight onto the top of the little roof so that it would be accessible on his way out.
Then, grateful for the continued chaos from the street beyond, he climbed into the chamber and walked silently to the door. Before opening it, he waited for the familiar sensation to come over him…the sort of itching in his belly that told him avampirwas near. The closer one came to him, the deeper and more violent the odd feeling he had in his gut.
There was a time not so long ago when Chas would have sneaked through the home of a Dracule and staked anyvampirhe encountered—often while in their beds, sleeping away the daylight. Even after he met the earl, and learned that at least one of Lucifer’s stewards was not quite the evil being his granny’s stories had made them out to be, he hadn’t become any less discriminating in his work.
But in the last few years, since he’d come to know Corvindale’s friends and realized that despite the fact that they had all tied their souls to the devil, there were various degrees of immorality and violence, Chas had become less rigid in his choices. In his mind, everyvampircould be a threat to mortals, but there was a divide between those who truly were, and those who simply tried to live and let live.
He heard nothing alarming and went out the door into the corridor on silent feet. A little twinge in his belly told him a Dracule was near, but it was so subtle that he knew it wasn’t in close proximity.
As he made his way through the house, mentally reviewing the rough sketch of a map Cale had made for him, it became obvious that the top floors of the house were empty and unused. That made his job even easier, for he’d be less likely to encounter anyone as he made his way to Moldavi’s private quarters below the ground.
Nevertheless, he utilized the servants’ stairs down through the back of the house, noting to himself that there were no enticing smells coming from this kitchen. Draculean households didn’t really need to cook much.
The twitch in his gut was getting stronger, and he slipped a stake from one of his inside pockets. But as he passed silently by the main foyer of the home, which was furnished so as to impress any casual visitors, he saw that a cluster of people still gathered in front of the house and glimpsed the gleam of shiny black paint on the side of an upended landau.
It was safe to say that everyone awake in this house was out in the street.
As he made his way toward the staircase Cale had told him led to the underground apartments, Chas couldn’t resist thinkingCould it simply be this easy? This Providential?
Sonia would say, yes, if he was doing God’s work, the Hand of the Almighty would arrange things so that it would happen. But Chas didn’t fully believe that such blatant miracles occurred like chess pieces being rearranged on their board.
His favorite Biblical maxim was “God helps those who help themselves.” And that was what he was doing.
He’d just about reached the entrance to the lower level when his belly gave a sharp twist and the odd itching feeling became uncomfortable. Just then a door opened in front of him.
Chas reacted before thevampirhad the chance to see him: he lunged for the unsuspecting man, grabbed his arm, and had him pushed against the wall, forearm up against his throat, before the sot could take a breath. All in complete silence.
Thevampirgoggled up at him, his eyes wide and shocked. Then they narrowed a bit as he seemed to catch his breath.
“Where’s Moldavi?” Chas asked in a soft voice, the stake’s point just beneath the servant’s waistcoat, pressing gently into his breastbone as his powerful arm eased up on the man’s throat.
He felt the footman draw in a breath and just before the bastard was about to shout an alarm, he jammed the stake through shirt, breastbone, and directly into his heart.
His victim jolted, shock rushing back over his face, and Chas felt him shudder…then all life abruptly cease. Swearing to himself—for now he had the smell of fresh blood in the house, not to mention the problem of a dead body to attend to—he wiped off his stake and stuck it back in his pocket. Then he heaved the corpse over his shoulder and slipped quickly back the way he’d come, toward the servants’ entrance.
Opening the back door, he dumped the corpse into the space between the house and the thick yew and boxwood that grew close to the wall, hoping it would obscure the body for some time.
Back inside the house, he moved with silent speed back to where he’d been when he encountered thevampir, all the while waiting for a renewed itch in his belly that told him more Dracule were near.
Before he started down the stairs, he paused, waiting, listening…feeling. There was a sound in the distance, voices rumbling…and the niggle started in his gut again. But it was some distance away and he started down into the depths of Cezar Moldavi’s lair.
There was a sort of finality about it. Perhaps it was because going below the surface was akin to being buried, perhaps because there was no way out but the way he came—or through the skull-lined catacombs on the north side—but Chas felt his nerves string tight. He was on his guard as he’d never been before, listening for the sound of approach, paying heed to his body and its innate signals. He had his stake in one hand, and his other fingers curled around the butt of his pocketed pistol.
Aside of it being cooler, and lit only with oil lamps and no natural light, the subterranean corridor appeared no different than one above the ground. It was painted and furnished, lined with doors just as any other hallway in a well-appointed home. But here he moved with more caution, listening at every door to see what he heard and felt.
The voices had become more distinct and Chas more cautious as he made his way along a stretch that seemed to make a large U-shape. When he reached a large door from which the voices seemed to be coming, he stopped to listen, scanning the hall as he pressed his ear to the wood, careful not to touch it and make it jolt in its hinges.
“…And Corvindale,” said a male voice beyond the door.
